


Another for Working Days

by DachOsmin



Category: Much Ado About Nothing - Shakespeare
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, M/M, Multi, Pining, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:54:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21952528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DachOsmin/pseuds/DachOsmin
Summary: Don Pedro’s mouth goes dry watching the way Benedick’s hands cup Beatrice’s waist as he pulls her close, the way her mouth breaks into a laugh at some quiet joke he whispers against the shell of her ear.He aches.
Relationships: Beatrice/Benedick (Much Ado About Nothing), Beatrice/Benedick/Don Pedro (Much Ado About Nothing)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 133
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Another for Working Days

**Author's Note:**

  * For [peristeronic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peristeronic/gifts).



In the wake of the war’s ending, Don Pedro celebrates the marriages of Hero and Claudio, Beatrice and Benedick, and then goes home to his own cold and empty bed.

There are offers of course.

They don’t have her smile. Or his eyes.

The dreams are unceasing. When Don Pedro wakes he can almost taste Benedick’s laughter on his tongue, feel the texture of Beatrice’s hair beneath his fingers.

His waking days are no better. There are parties every other night, and Beatrice and Benedick always find the spotlight. They dance, and Don Pedro’s mouth goes dry watching the way Benedick’s hands cup Beatrice’s waist as he pulls her close, the way her mouth breaks into a laugh at some quiet joke he whispers against the shell of her ear.

Don Pedro aches.

It’s at one of these parties that Beatrice finds him, some time after midnight but still not yet dawn. He’s been drinking in the corner, watching the shadows of the dancers scatter across the floor before him. When he looks up, it’s to see Beatrice perched in the chair next to him, head tilted and eyes narrowed like he’s a puzzle she wants to unravel.

“You watch him,” she says.

It’s not a question. He stares down into his beer and thinks about denying it, but it’s too late and he’s too drunk and the press of her eyes is too insistent. “I do,” he says at last. “He’s a very lucky man, to have you.” There, that will throw her off the trail. Better and more palatable, to think that’s all there is to it.

But she rolls her eyes. “He is. And I’m a lucky woman, to have him. He’s very handsome.”

Not a question, not a question, he doesn’t have to answer- but it’s a trap he wants to fall into, and he’s tired of lying, and so he answers anyway. “He is.”

She must see the truth of it in his eyes. “Ahh.” She leans back in her chair. “Well, fuck.”

He leans back as well, staring at the play of lights and the writhing mass of bodies on the dance floor. “Yep.”

She’s quiet long enough that he thinks she might have gone away because really, what else is there to say? I’m sorry you want to fuck my husband? But then he hears a quiet huff and- “both of us, then?”

In for a penny, in for a pound. “Both of you.”

She pauses. Snorts. And breaks into a peal of laughter.

He winces. “I would appreciate if you refrained from mocking me, even if I deserve it,” he says woodenly, wishing he were back on the battlefield- at least there he could shoot his problems.

“No, I wasn’t...” A huff, and she’s sitting down next to him. “What I meant was, thank goodness it’s both of us, rather than one. It would be so awkward if it were one.”

“I suppose,” he says with a leaden heart. Privately he cannot imagine it being anymore awkward than this.

“-but since it’s both, we can do something about it!”

Do something-? He’s opening his mouth to ask, but he realizes with a split second of drop stomach horror that she’s no longer looking at him, but instead is scanning the crowd and eagerly waving someone over. Oh no. oh no, no no. He watches with horror as laughing Benedick, cheeks flushed from wine, turns to see his wife and heads towards her with a lazy smile.

“My lord,” Benedick says, throwing an indolent arm over his wife’s shoulder and taking a rogueish sip of his beer. “Well met this evening.”

Don Pedro forces a smile. “I was just leaving-“

“My lord says he’s very fond of me,” Beatrice cuts in, and Don Pedro has an ugly feeling that this is going to end with a drunken duel on the yard.

“Oh?” Benedick says with a raised eyebrow. “You have very poor taste, then, my lord.” Beatrice punches him.

It’s not too late to get away. “If that will be all, I-“

But Beatrice has no mercy in her heart for him. “My lord says he’s very fond of you, too,” she says to her husband.

Benedick’s eyes narrow, and Don Pedro feels his stomach sink. He should deny this, he should say something, anything- but he knows if he does the words will ring false, false, false.

Benedick tilts his heart, as if considering. Don Pedro feels a giddy laugh coming on. Will it be pistols or swords, then?

“Both of us?” Benedick asks, eyebrows inching towards his hairline.

“Both of us,” Beatrice says. “And it seems he was content to pine in the corner and watch us dance instead of doing anything about it.”

“Did you _ask_ if he wanted to do anything about it?”

She laughs. “No, I thought you should have a say. And in any case, he seems to prefer turning funny colors to reasoned speech.”

“I see,” says Benedick. And then he’s turning to regard Don Pedro with a roguish smile. “Would you like to do something about it, my lord?”

Son Pedro’s mouth is paper dry. He should laugh this off as a joke and run away, or bridle at the insult and draw his sword- but he can’t, not when they’re looking at him like that. Twin pairs of eyes with interest and a hint of vulnerability, and something like heat.

“What,” he whispers, “did you have in mind?”

***

They lead him away from the party, away from the lights. The halls are dark save for the moonlight spilling in from the outside, and Don Pedro feels like a mortal in a fairy story, carried off by the good people under the hill. Beatrice runs ahead, laughing, while Benedick is a steady presence at his side, close enough that Don Pedro fancies he can hear the other man’s heart beating.

“Are you sure of this?” he murmurs, after Beatrice has turned a corner. “She is your wife, after all.”

Benedick laughs, and Don Pedro feels a knot in his chest easing. “My wife she may be, but god forgive the man that tries to keep Beatrice from what she wants. Besides,” he says, and Don Pedro shivers at the sudden heat in his voice, “my wife’s not the only one who wants you.”

“Oh?” he asks. His voice is high and breathy in his ears.

That gets a low chuckle, and suddenly Benedick is leaning in to press a whisper against the shell of his ear, so close that Don Pedro can feel the heat of his breath. “You’re quite something, my lord.”

Don Pedro is saved from having to formulate a reply when the door next to them opens and Beatrice pops out. “I knew you were a cad, husband mine, but to start without me?”

Benedick laughs. “Forgive me, I couldn’t help myself. But you’re right; I’ve neglected my manners. A lady should go first.” And with that he pushes Don Pedro into Beatrice’s waiting arms and closes the door behind them. And then there’s no time for talking.

***

After, Don Pedro lies awake, one of his bed mates sound asleep on either side of him. He waits until their breathing is steady and even, and then begins to extricate himself from the pile of limbs and the tangle of sheets. Despite the wonder of the evening, there is a bitterness to his heart. When all is said and done, they are married and he is merely a diversion, a single night’s folly quickly forgotten.

He exits the bed and makes for the door.

“Where are you going?”

He turns to see Beatrice watching him, hair mussed, and eyes lidded with sleep.

“To my own rooms, sweet lady,” he whispers.

She frowns. “Are you uncomfortable here?”

“No,” he says, and wishes his heart didn’t twist whenever he looks at her. “But I do not belong between you and your husband. I will cherish this night, but I have no right to claim any more of you or him.”

She tilts her head like he’s a puzzle to be solved. “Do you remember,” she says at last, “why I said I would not marry you?”

He winces at the memory, the pain of it. “You said I was too costly, and that you should rather have another husband for working days.”

“And I have one,” she says patiently, as if this is the most natural thing in the world. “But my lord: not every day is a working day. And so you belong here, just as he does.” She smiles. “After all, it is a very big bed.”

At her side, Benedick grunts. “Come back to bed, my lord.”

“Very well,” he says, and turns back towards the bed. The sheets between them are warm, but his heart feels warmer still.


End file.
